


Well-Applied Pressure

by preciouslittletime



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Football | Soccer, Hello Kitty Bandaids, M/M, Physical Therapy, Seokmin's Hands Get The Attention They Deserve, Sexual Tension, long haired jeonghan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26692231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciouslittletime/pseuds/preciouslittletime
Summary: Jeonghan is the golden boy of the MLS with a crush on the new team athletic trainer
Relationships: Lee Seokmin | DK/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 29
Kudos: 193
Collections: Match Point: The SEVENTEEN Sports Fic Fest





	Well-Applied Pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SVTSportsFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SVTSportsFest) collection. 



> I have a relatively lose grip on soccer (aside from my experience playing when I was literally 7 years old and/or living next to a MLS stadium for three years) so if there are inaccuracies, please excuse them. 
> 
> Also, if you have concerns about a medical professional having a relationship with a patient, I just want to warn you about that happening here.
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> Seokmin as the cute physical therapist that Jeonghan keeps pretending to have to see.
> 
> Jeonghan can be an athlete feigning injury or the head coach making excuses to have to meet up with Seokmin
> 
> There's lot of potential for something M or even E rated...but truly chase your bliss

Pre-season is a special kind of hell extrapolated only by Seungkwan’s insistence on having “morning meetings.”

Jeonghan is certain he doesn’t care about a new athletic trainer. Especially if this information is coming at him on a frigid morning, 2 hours before sunrise, when he’s stuck kneeling on wet grass on the field of their practice grounds. 

He doesn’t particularly care, either, for exercises when all he wants to do is get some well-earned sleep. It’s not as though he thinks he’s better than everyone else and therefore does not have to participate in pre-season training. It’s simply that if they wanted him to wake up this early in the middle of winter then they should at least let them get to the running and save the talking for when the sun is out.

“Now you have the youngest head coach in the MLS _and_ the youngest head athletic trainer,” Seungkwan, the head coach in question, announces with a flourish of his iced coffee. He doesn’t seem to care that it’s thirty-eight degrees outside, he sucks down a gulp of it anyway.

“His name is…” Seungkwan looks down at the clipboard he’s holding and scans it quickly. “ Seokmin Lee. Please play nice, don’t scare him off like you did the last one.”

It’s not easy taking care of their team. They’ve all played together for so long, avoiding the trades and drafts that were a given with most professional teams. Now the camaraderie makes them a nuisance.

The first order of the day is a long distance run to warm them up. Jeonghan is good at running, despite his issues with his stamina he’d had in college. He worked hard to overcome them, and became one of the best Wingers in the entire conference, two time all-star, league favorite. He was good at a lot of things when he actually applied himself. 

The thing is, he very much does not feel like applying himself to running on this particular morning. He is still far enough ahead of everyone else to only barely hear their heavy breathing and footfalls on the damp dirt, but he flops his arms around like he’s throwing a temper tantrum and commits exactly zero effort into working up to anything more than a light jog. 

Frankly, he knows he’s the fastest. He doesn’t need to prove it to anyone on a warm-up run. He shows it on the field where it counts. 

The fog is settling through the trees behind the practice stadium, thick and heavy. It’s dense enough that it cuts his visibility down to zero on the narrow path through the foliage. He uses it as an excuse for letting Soonyoung and Jihoon pass him on the right, losing them as soon as they get a few feet ahead.

He doesn’t see the little hook shaped root on the ground before it catches his foot. Suddenly, he’s flat on the ground with his ankle throbbing like it’s broken. He yells out in frustration and over-tiredness and yanks up his joggers to see the damage. It’s Joshua, one of the forwards, who finds him first.

“Jeonghan?” he says, kneeling down to grab his calf. “Woah, what happened? Did you trip?”

There’s a slight tear in the knee of his pants and he sees a bloom of blood. He glares upwards. “Help me get to the trainer. I think I twisted my ankle.”

In all his years of playing, he’s never had an injury. Sure, he’d been sore from long practices, had a few cuts and scrapes during games. The times he’d visited the trainer before were merely perfunctory. He could get behind a decent massage to rub out tight muscles or an excuse to soak in the training room spa. There was no opportunity to speak to the previous trainer on a personal level. She had been quiet, well-mannered, and exceptionally professional. 

The fluorescent lights of the training room hurt his eyes when Joshua helps him hobble inside.

The room reeks of rubbing alcohol and has enough unfamiliar equipment to fill its cavernous space. On the far end, there are several private rooms for the assistant trainers to conduct one-on-one evaluations behind closed doors. There’s one office they all worked out of, stacked high with supplies and with a couple small desktop computers for the trainers to work on. 

He’s got one arm around Joshua’s shoulders to prop himself upright, and the throbbing in his ankle makes him feel afraid to even touch more than his toe to the ground to propel him forwards. It’s early enough that the entire space is empty, with most of the assisting staff still down by the field. The wide windows showing only the faintest indications of dawn far off on the horizon.

Hence, why he’s so surprised to hear music blasting from the overhead speakers. He makes Joshua stop by locking the knee in his good leg before casting his eyes upwards. The song is familiar, something sung by a female popstar, but he can’t really hear her voice over the loud falsetto drifting out of the training room office.

“Hello?” he calls to the voice. It stops suddenly. He can hear the rolling of an office chair across a laminate floor before a flash of brown hair whizzes past the open door.

“Hi! Sorry, sorry!”

The music stops and the room becomes eerily silent in the absence of it. 

The boy - and let's be honest here, because he doesn’t look old enough to be administering doctor-level medical care - leans against the door dramatically. He’s got his hair short, with long curly strands bounding against his forehead from the wet fog of the morning. His lips are full, pulled into the biggest smile he’s ever seen somebody wearing at five A.M. and his eyes squint with the force of it. Jeonghan swallows hard, trying not to allow himself the impulse of dragging his eyes from toe to head of the man’s muscular frame, long legs, bony wrists crossed against his chest.

Joshua nudges him slightly.

“We’re looking for Seokmin,” Jeonghan says, training his voice.

“Looking at him. And you are…” Seokmin grins. “Yoon. Winger.”

Joshua laughs. “Researched?”

“I think I know enough about major league soccer to recognize that ponytail.” Seokmin beams and takes only four broad steps across the floor to encroach into Jeonghan’s immediate space. He smells like soap and the scent lingers when he kneels in front of Jeonghan’s injured ankle. The position makes Jeonghan purse his lips involuntarily and he stares down at Seokmin’s curly-haired head over the tip of his nose with interest. 

“Ankle?” Seokmin asks. It’s obvious he knows, though, by the way his chilly fingertips brush against the swelling skin. Jeonghan shivers and clutches at Joshua’s shirt to stay as still as he possibly can. His skin breaks out in goosebumps when Seokmin slides a palm over the loose muscle in his calf. “What’d you do?”

“Tripped over a branch on a run,” Jeonghan responds with a sigh. Seokmin looks up at him. The way he rests back on his own heel has him so close to touching his chin to Jeonghan’s stomach. 

Seokmin reaches for the walkie talkie clipped to his belt. He activates the button. “Seokmin. Can I get assistance at the training room? No rush. Let Seungkwan know Jeonghan has an ankle injury.”

The walkie talkie buzzes in response. There’s an affirmative noise and then silence.

Seokmin looks back up at him. “Pain level out of ten?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Three?”

“Can you walk on it?’

“Probably not.”

Seokmin stands to his full height and reaches around Jeonghan's middle, clutching tightly at the curve between his hip bone and rib cage. It’s as if Jeonghan weighs nothing, the way he scoops him up into his arms. Reflexively, he reaches around Seokmin’s neck to hold up some of his own weight and his nose bumps against the softness of Seokmin’s cheek.

If Joshua leaves the room with a word, he doesn’t hear it. Seokmin just flashes him that bright smile and then carries him into one of the smaller rooms. He’s deposited with noticeable care onto one of the padded tables. The leather is cold from the air conditioning and the lights are dimmer in the small space.

“Any injuries to the ankle before? I check everyone’s records, but if you didn’t report it, then I need to know,” Seokmin picks up one of the iPads from the counter and starts tapping away on it. He’s not looking at Jeonghan and it gives him the opportunity to admire his profile. His nose is long, pointed at the end. Long and pointed like the rest of him. Jeonghan hesitates to answer when he watches Seokmin suck a full lip in between his teeth as he types.

“No. I’m not very accident prone, so this is a first.”

Seokmin laughs, loud and bright. His mouth would be too big on anyone else, but it suits him. “I’m so grateful you’d save yourself for me.”

Jeonghan can’t help but laugh at the joke, too. “I’m a virgin. You have to be gentle with me.”

Seokmin plops himself down a stool and sets the iPad down behind him. He propels himself on the wheels across the floor and catches himself on the table with his hands bracketing Jeonghan’s thighs. He wriggles his eyebrows at him suggestively. “You really a virgin, Jeonghan?”

It’s meant as a joke, but Jeonghan can’t help the opportunity to make the other boy blush. He leans back on his hands and tosses his long ponytail over one shoulder. “You really think _I’m_ a virgin?”

Seokmin’s big mouth falls open slightly and then he shakes his head. His laugh is a little uneasy, but cheery, nonetheless. Jeonghan watches him delicately unlace his shoe, slipping it carefully off his foot as to not disturb the injury. “I uh…wow...walked right into this situation. Sorry, that’s not very professional.”

Realistically, it’s embarrassing that out of all the methods of touch he could imagine with Seokmin, it had to begin with his foot. Thankfully, he’d only gotten the chance to run a few hundred feet before he tripped on that stupid fucking branch. It could have been worse. 

With it being his job, Seokmin doesn’t seem to care either way. He examines Jeonghan’s ankle thoroughly, pressing his palm against the sole of his foot and pushing against it while looking for the hint of a reaction. Each time he glances up from under his eyelashes, Jeonghan meets his gaze head on. His ankle doesn’t hurt much anymore, but the turning of his stomach certainly makes him uncomfortable. 

Jeonghan knows what he looks like. He’s been asked to do magazine spreads, gets offers from designers, he even got invited to fashion week last year. And enough people throw around the word _prettyboy_ on the field trying to insult him. But, he likes being pretty. It works out well for him, too.

Seokmin, on the other hand, turns on his 100 watt smile around like he has no idea what kind of effect it has on people. Jeonghan’s stomach isn’t just turning. There’s butterflies swarming in it.

“Doesn’t seem to be bothering you,” Seokmin observes. “I don’t think it’s a sprain, then. Probably just a strain.”

His hand lingers on Jeonghan’s shin, thumb digging into the skin. Jeonghan smirks. “That’s good news. My knee is still cut up though.” He leans forward more than he needs to, letting his lips brush over the wilder strands of Seokmin’s hair before he motions to the quickly forming scab on his knee. 

When he leans away, Seokmin is licking his lips. “Do you have a preference for band aid color? I brought my Hello Kitty ones from home.”

He pushes himself away again, hands outstretched, rolling backwards to the cupboards. Jeonghan only just notices what he’s wearing: a pair of black Adidas sweats and slightly-too-short team polo. It rides up when he reaches towards a higher shelf, letting the smallest sliver of tan skin peek out from behind the fabric. 

“Hello Kitty for sure,” Jeonghan confirms.

“I see you are a man of taste,” Seokmin laughs into the shelves.

“It’s what I’m known for.”

Jeonghan helps Seokmin pull up the leg of his sweatpants as far as they will go over his knee. Seokmin’s now gloved fingers brush over the softness of his thigh, nails scraping slightly across his skin as he nudges the fabric upwards. Jeonghan watches him work. When he focuses, he sticks just the tip of his pink tongue between his teeth, furrows up his eyebrows and leans in as close as he can. The antiseptic stings, but the bloom of warm breath over the scrape is what gives Jeonghan the chills.

“There. All better,” Seokmin says, sliding his thumb across the pink Hello Kitty band aid. It’s got a little pattern of her face across it. Jeonghan admires his work with a smile. 

“My favorite color.” 

Seokmin smiles bright and then pulls down Jeonghan’s pants leg again and he pats his good knee. “For your ankle, I’d like to just wrap it and have you take it easy at practice for a day or two. I’m going to have my assistant drive you to get an x-ray from the team physician, just in case, but I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”

It’s curious how professional he sounds. Jeonghan can’t decide what age he’s supposed to be. Typically, the trainers are licensed, went through years of school. It’s extremely hard to believe that Seokmin could be any older than he is. 

“I think I’ll be ok,” Jeonghan says, flipping his ponytail again. He lays down on the table, letting his hand fall against his stomach. Deliberately, he pushes up the hem of his shirt, flashing the expanse of skin from his belly button to his waistband. Jeonghan knows Seokmin is looking. “If you’ll just wrap it, please?”

The sound of Seokmin swallowing is loud. Jeonghan feels a sense of pride.

“Color preference? I can make little bows with the gauze, too.”

Jeonghan giggles, shaking the table. “Hm, pink, I guess? So, I can color coordinate with my band aid?”

Seokmin rolls away again. “Good to know they invited you to fashion week for a reason.”

“You know about that?” Jeonghan says to the ceiling tiles.

Seokmin’s voice gets closer again, wheels rumbling on the laminate. “Your career is pretty hard to ignore.”

Now he has to pull down his sock slightly. Jeonghan props himself on his side, arm underneath his head for balance. Seokmin beams at him as he holds his foot still on his lap. His fingers are long, with knobby knuckles and touched with green veins on his palms. Jeonghan likes how expertly he wraps him, how he takes care to not pull too tight or too loose. The wrap is a terrible neon pink gauze that radiates the color on Seokmin’s face under the buzzing fluorescents. He uses a pair of small scissors to cut what he needs and then cuts another small piece to twists between his thumbs and forefingers. 

“For the little bow,” he explains. Sure enough, it’s the shape he makes. The stickiness of the gauze allows it to adhere to the side of Jeonghan’s leg, just above the bulb of his ankle bone.

Jeonghan slips on his shoe, leans down to tie it on his dangling foot over the edge of the table. Seokmin has moved his chair back slightly, but it would only take the smallest shift for their foreheads to touch. Jeonghan is acutely aware of the space and when he huffs out a small laugh around a smile, it makes Seokmin’s hair flutter. 

Luckily, he doesn’t collapse the second he puts weight on the injury. It doesn’t bother him much, only the slightest ache. Seokmin reaches out to steady him when he finally slides off the edge of the table to stand upright. Those long, thin fingers cage around his upper arm.

“I’ll call my assistant. She should be here by now. And I’ll get some ice for the road.”

Jeonghan tips his head in Seokmin’s direction and scrunches up his nose. “You tired of my company already, Seokmin?”

Seokmin’s laugh is incredibly loud. “I didn’t say that. In fact, the second that ankle gives you trouble, you come back to me ok?”

“Promise?” Jeonghan uses his best disarming pout.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

***

It’d been two weeks since the first time they’d interacted one-on-one, but Seokmin was always around. He gets along with the rest of the team as if he were a teammate and not a medical professional. Once or twice he pops up on Soonyoung’s instagram stories and he knows that Mingyu and Minghao met him for drinks. But, most of the time, during training, he’s off with Seungkwan on the sidelines during scrimmages, cheering as if it’s the championship rather than a team game.

The next time he sees Seokmin, he comes with a plan.

On this particular morning, when the sun is beating down on the artificial turf, they run drills. Mingyu is standing in the goal, bouncing on his toes with his legs spread wide trying to catch the balls as they fly towards him in torrents. He and Joshua are sprinting and sliding, trying out the most dangerous crosses they can get on one another.

When he was ten, Jeonghan discovered he could bend his fingers much further back on his hand than a normal person could. Back then it was only a fun trick to show people but became slightly more useful when he realized the application to soccer.

In particular, it’s useful when he purposely tries to slide tackle Joshua with the heel of his right leg, pushing his weight down on the fingers of his left hand. Soonyoung, standing nearby, notices the way his fingers bend back unnaturally and hisses. Jeonghan tempers his smirk and then rolls onto his back in feigned agony.

He yelps, holding his hand to his chest and rolling back and forth on his back like an upended turtle. The other boys stop, and Soonyoung and Joshua lean down beside him. 

“It was his hand,” Soonyoung clucks around, gently taking Jeonghan’s wrist to examine it. For added effect, Jeonghan whimpers at the contact. “Do you need help getting to Seokmin?”

The practice had only just started, and Seokmin is still in the training room in the athletics building. It’s near enough to walk, but Seungkwan is already rushing over demanding they move aside so Jeonghan could be helped into the golf cart. 

When he makes it to the training room, Seokmin is singing to music again. This time it’s a male lounge singer type song, something jazzy. Jeonghan cradles his “injured” hand against his stomach and watches how Seokmin dances in the training office. He snaps his fingers, moving his hips around. For somebody so spindly, he has excellent rhythm.

They’re alone again. Seungkwan effectively ditched at the door by Jeonghan’s persuasion that he'd be okay. The music is loud enough that Seokmin doesn’t hear Jeonghan’s steps on the laminate or the weight of his body as he leans up against the door. Seokmin is still performing to the wall, hitting every note flawlessly and using a stapler as a microphone.

When he does a spin on his heels, he finally notices that Jeonghan is there. He stumbles, stapler flying out of his hand and smacking into the wall with a _clang_. Dozens of staples skitter across the floor and Seokmin covers his mouth with his hand, eyes wide in fear.

“Scare you?” Jeonghan smirks.

“Yes, I think I’m having a heart attack” Seokmin whines. He reaches out and pantomimes strangling Jeonghan only a few feet from him. When Seokmin grits his teeth, it’s essentially a smile.

“I bent my fingers back.” Jeonghan motions down at his hand with his eyes. Seokmin follows and then frowns.

His voice immediately turns to concern, his bright smile dimming. “Let me take a look?”

Jeonghan follows him into one of the smaller rooms and closes the door behind him. It's a different room than last time. This one is smaller, painted a light orange with a massive window casting slatted sunlight around the room through the blinds. Jeonghan pops himself up on the table, legs swinging back and forth as Seokmin perches on his swivel stool.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Seokmin asks, tapping at the iPad.

“I was tackling and landed on my hand. It bent my fingers back.” 

“That’s no good,” Seokmin comments. “What’s the pain level?”

Jeonghan hadn’t thought that far. “Three,” he lies.

Seokmin sets the iPad down behind him. The distance between the counter and table is much shorter. He only has to move a foot before he’s positioned between Jeonghan’s knees. Gently, he takes Jeonghan’s hand and places the back of it against his right palm.

Now Jeonghan can feel how smooth his hands truly are. His skin is warm, plush and bony all at once. With his left hand, Seokmin tests the resistance of Jeonghan’s fingers and watches his face. The darkness of his eyes is illuminated by the sunlight, turned a deep brown reflecting the golden hue of the room. He has the smallest freckle just above the apple of his cheek, on the opposite side of his face from where Jeonghan has his own to match. 

Jeonghan forgets to react accordingly to the pain he’s supposed to be feeling.

“It doesn’t seem like it’s bothering you too much.”

Jeonghan shrugs. Seokmin is still playing with his fingers, pressing them apart and pinching his fingertips. Chills run down his arm when Seokmin holds his wrist, tracing the outlines of his fingers between his own, following them down from fingertip to knuckle to knuckle to palm. 

“I can wrap them,” he offers. “I seem to be two for two on injuries I can’t do much about.”

Outside the door, he can hear that some people have entered the training room, probably some of the assistants that Seokmin manages. Seokmin glances at the door from the corners of his eyes and then looks back up at Jeonghan’s face. They’re terribly close together, enough that Jeonghan could swing his legs up over Seokmin’s shoulders if he wanted. 

The thought that the interaction could end too quickly has Jeonghan scrambling to find some kind of control over the situation. “I heard you singing. You have a nice voice.”

Seokmin preens and then flushes. “Oh um...thanks.” He drops one hand to the padded table on the outside of Jeonghan’s thigh, but the other holds tightly to his wrist. “That’s cause you’re always spying on me.”

Jeonghan opens his mouth indignantly, coughing out an incredulous laugh. “Only because you’re always singing when I come in here.”

“Well,” Seokmin leans a little closer, as if he’s trying to let Jeonghan in on a secret. “Stop needing to come in here.”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to grace you with my presence.” Jeonghan shakes out his hair behind him. He’d left it down today on purpose but held back his bangs with a thin white elastic headband. Seokmin’s eyes flick up to watch his hair swing from side to side.

“As long as you don’t mind my singing.” 

“I just said I liked your singing.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment. Seokmin's lips are just a few inches away from Jeonghan’s chin. For a second, it looks like Seokmin is about to say something. He opens his mouth and then snaps it closed again before offering his toothy smile.

“Unfortunately, my medical skills are significantly better than my singing,” he cocks his head to the side. The movement exposes the cut of his clavicle from under his team polo. “Well...that’s probably a good thing actually.” 

Jeonghan rakes his eyes over his neck and sighs. “I wouldn’t come back here if they weren’t.” He leans back slightly. “Although, I don’t mind coming by to watch the performance.”

Seokmin blushes. “You’re welcome any time. But be aware if you keep showing up, I will have to charge. For the performance. Not the medical care.”

His hand is still holding Jeonghan’s wrist, and unconsciously, he’s started to slide his thumb back and forth over the ridge of his radius bone. They both glance downwards, forcing Seokmin to freeze his movement.

“As I-- um,” Seokmin clears his throat. “Said…there’s not much I can do but wrap it and give you some ice. It doesn’t look like there’s any swelling and it didn’t seem like it was too painful for me to move them around.”

Jeonghan isn’t sure what possesses him. Seokmin is providing him medical care, he’s a professional, and the flirting is already probably unethical. But he’s got a challenge in his eyes when he says: “You could just kiss them better.”

Seokmin snaps his eyes up and his blush deepens even further. Jeonghan is acutely aware that the other man has his fingers pressed snuggly against his pulse and sends up a prayer that Seokmin can’t feel the way his heart pounds in his chest for a few beats. The look on Seokmin’s face obviously suggests he’s crossed a line and Jeonghan tries to save the interaction from its rapidly increasing downward trajectory.

“I’m only kidding, Seokmin,” he says with a giggle. He rests back on his good hand, trying to look unphased. 

Seokmin gives an uneasy laugh that spreads into the sound of his typical loudness. “I was going to say! I mean I could try it, but that wasn’t in my training.” 

An energy zaps through Jeonghan’s spine when he realizes Seokmin is pulling his hand towards his mouth. He clenches his stomach muscles and sits up slightly just as he feels Seokmin’s lips press against the second knuckles of his ring and middle finger. It’s probably meant to be innocent, but the overdramatic way Seokmin purses his lips and closes his eyes shoots a painful pang of arousal straight through Jeonghan’s body down to his toes. 

Jeonghan shudders at the contact, the warm bloom of heat from Seokmin’s mouth against his skin. He can feel the wetness of his lips, the slight chap from the sun. When Seokmin breathes out his nose, goosebumps spread over Jeonghan forearms. He realizes he’s gripping the hem of shorts when his nails bite through the fabric and into his palm.

Seokmin opens his eyes before he pulls away and the image is sinful. His lashes are short, but at the angle they seem to brush against his eyebrows. His are eyes pretty and open, pinkish-rimmed and sleepy. His mouth is still pressed against Jeonghan’s fingers, lips still pursed, Jeonghan can’t help but imagine Seokmin looking up at him with his mouth pressed up against a different part of his anatomy. It’s only a half a second, but one that Jeonghan knows he’ll be remembering for a long time.

When he finally extracts his mouth, he’s laughing again. “Did it work? Feel any better?”

Jeonghan’s mouth is dry and he wants to pull Seokmin up and drink from his. He hasn’t felt this turned by a kiss somewhere other than his mouth since he was in high school. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth when he tries to wet his lips to speak.

The hesitation shades Seokmin’s features in anxiety. It’s worrisome to say the least. So Jeonghan quickly quirks up the corners of his mouth and chuckles. 

“Much. Thank you.”

***

The first real pre-season match is an utter disappointment.

It’s nice to have the fans in the stadium again. Jeonghan isn’t shy about admitting how much he likes people chanting his name. However the other team has apparently only gotten worse from last season - as indicated by the scoreboard. Other teammates might have started to ease up out of mercy, Jeonghan didn’t share that ideology.

Seokmin is on the sidelines. He’s got on a team sweatshirt, a pair of tan pants, and a white baseball cap with the team logo on the front. He looks effortlessly handsome as always. Jeonghan catches his eyes a few times. Once, after Jeonghan makes a dive and throws a casual smirk in Seokmin’s direction. Seokmin grins, gives him a wink, and then flushes. Jeonghan almost forgets he’s in the middle of a game.

He plays a little harder than he needs to, trying to get Seokmin’s attention. It seems to work well enough, because once he’s subbed out Seokmin beelines right for him with a water bottle. 

“You doing alright? How’s your ankle?” Seokmin asks as he comes to kneel down in front of Jeonghan where he’s sitting on the bench. Jeonghan pushes his sweaty bangs out of the way and tucks what he can back into the elastic headband. 

“Ankle is fine. But I think I need to come see you.” 

Seokmin’s face falls just for a moment. It’s almost imperceptible, but Jeonghan has always been the most observant person he knows. He tilts his head to one side and then rolls his shoulder. 

“My right shoulder has been giving me trouble.” A lie. A complete lie.

Seokmin purses his lips and pats Jeonghan’s bare knee before coming to stand at his full height again. He takes the proffered water bottle from Jeonghan and then nods in understanding. “Come by my office after the game. I’ll see what we can do about it.”

It’s all according to plan.

They’re sitting in the locker room after the end of the game. Jeonghan’s hair is still slightly damp from his shower as he takes his time packing up his bag. Between the post-game interviews and the team meeting, an entire hour has passed. The locker room is clear of his teammates, the only sounds are coming from the hum of the vacuum from the janitorial staff in the team room.

Jeonghan hangs back.

The training office in the stadium is much nicer than the one at the practice field, though it carries the same sterile smell. Here the lights are dimmer - toned down LEDs instead of harsh fluorescents - and the walls are a navy blue to match the team colors. It’s smaller though, and windowless, directly below the field in the tunnels of the stadium. Jeonghan pushes his way through the clear double doors and past the training equipment to the main office in the back corner.

Seokmin is humming along to something slow and romantic, one of the pop ballads that’s been playing every day on the radio, and he takes his time placing the supplies from the game into the well-organized cabinets. He’s taken off his sweatshirt now, revealing a pristine white t-shirt underneath that clings to him as if it’s a size too small. Jeonghan rests against the door frame and takes the opportunity to admire how it hides next to nothing about how in shape Seokmin is under his clothes.

“Don’t you have assistants to do your inventory?” Jeonghan laughs.

Seokmin jumps and spins around. “You are always scaring the crap out of me, you know that?” His eyes are wide for a moment, but they curve up with his eventual smile.

“Don’t be so easy to scare.”

“I can’t help that,” Seokmin frowns playfully. “And I have assistants, but I let them go home so I could wait for you to stop by.” He blinks and his eyes are kind and earnest. Jeonghan ignores the sentimental burst in his belly.

“That’s considerate,” Jeonghan smiles. “Where do you want me?”

The tips of Seokmin’s ear go pink and then turns to place a roll of kinesiology tape into the appropriate container. He shuts the cabinet behind him and then motions back out towards the main room. “There’s a room just past the treadmills on your left. It should be unlocked. I’ll be right there.”

Jeonghan takes a steadying breath before he makes it to the room. It’s tiny, intimate, too dark to see properly even when he figures out how to turn on the lights. There’s only a leather padded table in the room, which looks far more like a massage table than one meant for examinations. He’s never been in here before, not in all the times he’s had to get an athletic massage from the last trainer - she had always opted for something slightly more public.

See, there’s an art to what Jeonghan does. It’s flirting, but it’s more than that. Something along the lines of planting the idea of wanting him back in somebody else’s head. If he flaunts and preens and _looks_ the way he does then eventually he gets what he wants. And he’s decided that he wants Seokmin. And he’s going to go about it the best way he knows how.

So, he tugs off his sweatshirt and the long sleeve he’s got on underneath. The room is temperature controlled, but when the chill catches his skins he shudders. Or at least, he tells himself that it’s the cold that makes him break out in goosebumps. 

He sits up on the table, leaving his slides on the ground and crossing his bare feet under his thighs. He adjusts positions twice, trying to find the angle best suited to show off his chest, his narrow waist, the deep set of his clavicles; but not looking like he’s posing, like Seokmin is catching him casually lounging and scrolling through his phone with one hand.

It works out alright because Seokmin stops short at the door.

Jeonghan doesn’t look up, but he can see Seokmin’s wide eyes in his periphery. Seokmin takes him in from the waistband of his pants to the dip of his chin, taking in the artfully and purposefully exposed skin Jeonghan has put on display for him.

“You...um...took your shirt off?” Seokmin says cautiously as he finally enters the room. Jeonghan glances upwards and then back down with a smirk.

“Yes? Is that a problem? You’re looking at my shoulder, right?”

“Yeah…yes…of course,” Seokmin falters. Jeonghan locks his phone and smiles with a bubble of laughter that Seokmin matches if not for the nervous tinge it carries.

Seokmin takes a breath as if he’s reminding himself that he’s a professional and slips back into it perfectly. He instructs Jeonghan to uncross his legs and let them dangle off the bench before he comes to stand along his right side. His fingers are warm and dry - as if he’s washed them one too many times - when he touches the bare skin of Jeonghan’s chest and back. He adjusts his posture with gentle guidance that makes Jeonghan fingertips tingle, a rollercoaster dip swoop in his belly.

“Can you tell me about your shoulder? When did it first start bothering you and the nature of the pain you’re feeling?” Seokmin asks, sterile, but dripping with a warm bedside manner.

“Well, it aches a little when I’m running. It’s been like this for a long time,” Jeonghan says.

“Oh, I thought it was a newer injury.” 

“No, something that’s always bothered me.” Lie. “The last trainer would sometimes just rub it out after a game or when it started to really bug me.” Another lie.

He turns to look at Seokmin who smiles softly, not even looking up from where his hands are smoothing over Jeonghan’s scapula, his deltoid. He roots around with his thumbs like he’s trying to find something hidden in Jeonghan’s muscles, and Jeonghan remembers all at once that Seokmin has had years of training, lots of knowledge. There’s something incredibly sexy about watching him work. And sexier about him working on Jeonghan in particular.

“It’s best if you keep looking straight ahead,” he says. Jeonghan obeys, but he catches the way Seokmin’s cheeks are pink just under the edges of his eyes. “I’m sorry I never noticed you had long term shoulder issues in your records. But I can massage it out. If you have some time tonight?”

“I don’t have anywhere to be.” Another lie. Jeonghan hasn’t gone straight home after a game for seven years, pre-season or not. Right now, despite the cold, he’s certain that the rest of his teammates are out at their favorite rooftop bar downtown working off the adrenaline from winning. Jeonghan thinks that being in this tiny room with Lee Seokmin’s palms pressing into his back is one hundred times more thrilling.

Seokmin gently brushes Jeonghan’s hair off his neck in a way Jeonghan isn’t expecting. His fingernails brush against the tendon there, catching ever so slightly as the ends of his hair tickle over his throat. Seokmin’s voice is serious and professional when he says: “Can you put up your hair for me? It might be easier.”

Jeonghan tries to regain composure and nods. He takes the elastic hair-tie off his wrist and glances out of the corner of his eye where Seokmin is busying himself with something in one of the drawers in the room. Jeonghan stares at Seokmin’s back as he gathers his hair into a high ponytail, tugging on it tightly so it keeps its shape. 

When Seokmin turns around he seems surprised to see Jeonghan’s hair up, despite asking for it. He wrings his hands, the lotion on them making a wet sound, and Jeonghan tucks what he missed behind his ears. Seokmin lets out a cough of a laugh. “Your hair looks cute like that.”

“Does it?” Jeonghan asks innocently. As if he doesn’t already know from searching his own name on twitter. There’s a fan account for him with the username _Yoon’s High Pony_ that literally just posts pictures of his hair. It’s got two thousand followers.

Seokmin stands beside him again and sets to work without hesitation. His hands are slick from the lotion and slide up Jeonghan’s bicep. Jeonghan gasps quietly, not expecting the strength Seokmin carries in his hands alone. His fingertips dig into the muscle deliciously and drag upwards to his trapezius so Jeonghan’s head lolls to one side instinctively. Like a cat asking to pet in one spot of its body.

“Can I ask you something?” Seokmin hums. His voice is tight, like he’s using every muscle in his body to generate the strength for the massage.

“Sure,” Jeonghan hums.

“I read something that said your hair was insured, is that true?” 

Jeonghan steals a look at Seokmin before they both start laughing.

“No. Obviously, not.” Jeonghan giggles. “Do you read a lot of articles about my hair, Seokmin?”

Seokmin’s hands pause for a moment, but then he redoubles his effort into working a stubborn knot out of the edge of Jeonghan’s shoulder blade. “I mean you’re one of the most famous soccer players in the country. I think It’s really hard _not_ to read about you.”

“Oh, so you do read about me?” Jeonghan smirks. 

Seokmin laughs awkwardly. “I...well...I guess I was a fan before I started working here.” 

“You guess?” Jeonghan turns his head this time and finds that Seokmin’s face is much closer to his than he realized. His eyes have to focus before he can make out the proximity of Seokmin’s eyes to his own, the way the tip of his nose is almost bumping against the curve of his shoulder. From this distance he can see that Seokmin has more than just the one freckle on his cheek. That he has several in varying sizes and depth of color. He focuses on one just above the corner of his mouth.

Seokmin looks determined not to meet his eyes. “I...um...fine. _Fine_. I did have one of your jerseys. Your rookie year. You used to play in the city where I went to school.” 

Jeonghan thinks about Seokmin in that burnt orange jersey, the way the number 62 would look on his chest, the way _Yoon_ would look in big block letters across his back. Jeonghan grins. “So a _big_ fan.” 

Seokmin chuckles and ducks his head. For a moment it looks as if he’s about to rest his forehead on Jeonghan’s shoulder, but thinks better of it at the last second. “You’re making fun of me.” 

“Actually, I’m flattered. I’m always willing to make time for my fans.”

Seokmin finally glances up to meet his eyes. They’re squinted up with his laughter, and he’s so close Jeonghan can count his eyelashes. Seokmin shakes his head and sighs. “Please look straight ahead.”

Jeonghan looks back at the wall. “Too embarrassed to look at me?”

“Maybe?” Seokmin chuckles. “But I need to get the back of your neck. This might be a little sore, so let me know if I need to ease up.”

Seokmin practically climbs onto the massage table. He places one knee up on the leather, knocking it against the side of Jeonghan’s thigh, and making him a whole head taller. Jeonghan cranes his neck, ear touching his other shoulder, as Seokmin’s fingers dig into the tight muscle at the top of his trapezius. 

He can’t help the way he groans. Seokmin wasn’t lying when he said it might be sore - apparently feeling the knot there, a nugget of truth in Jeonghan’s lie. Jeonghan’s eyes squeeze closed as Seokmin works out the muscle with overlapping swipes of his thumb. Each pass draws out a soft sound that Jeonghan has no control over, despite how he tries to catch them in his throat. 

He wonders how he must look and sound. His mouth is hanging open and his eyes are closed so tightly he’s seeing flashing stars behind them. The sounds tumbling out from his lips are shocked and high, borderline embarrassing to his own ears. 

It only gets worse when Seokmin readjusts his hands. He works his thumbs higher, almost into Jeonghan’s hairline at the back of his neck. But in order to get leverage he has to curl the rest of his fingers completely around Jeonghan’s throat. He doesn’t apply any pressure, doesn’t curl his long fingers inwards, but Jeonghan becomes incredibly aware of how his fingers fit around his neck, almost touching where they’re close to meeting on the other side. He can feel each knuckle, each warm millimeter of skin, the way Seokmin is holding up Jeonghan’s chin with his forefinger.

Jeonghan makes a harsher sound at that. His eyes fly open, fingernails digging into the leather edge of the table, spine going so straight he thinks it might crack. He glances up at Seokmin and finds him staring back, eyes slightly heated underneath his hooded eyes. He’s got one lip trapped between his teeth, going white from how hard his biting down, and Jeonghan _knows_ it’s not just from how hard he’s having to work to get out the knot.

Seokmin lets out a shuddering breath, staring at Jeonghan intently. He drags his thumbs downwards, digging in deeper, and Jeonghan’s back bows with the force of it. Fingers edge along his shoulder blade, following the planes of his back as if they were wings, until he’s nearly grasping Jeonghan’s waist, and then comes up the other side to his chest. Seokmin’s pinky comes close to edging against his nipple and Jeonghan gasps, eyelashes fluttering. 

It’s enough to make Seokmin draw away, shaking his head slightly like he’s remembering himself. “I’m...I’m done. Sorry.”

Jeonghan is grateful for the way he’s got his thighs pressed together. The joggers aren’t going to hide the way he’s half hard from Seokmin’s hands around his neck. “What are you apologizing for?” he asks, trying to sound collected.

Seokmin reaches and hands Jeonghan his shirt and sweatshirt where he’d left it on the chair in the room. Jeonghan notes how he doesn’t make eye contact. 

“It looked like I was hurting you.”

Jeonghan takes his clothes and bites at his lip. For a second he feels like he’s losing control of the act and forgetting the role he’s trying to play. The lip between his teeth becoming less of a way to flirt and more of him trying to keep confessions from spilling out his mouth. _Why did you stop touching me? I want your hands everywhere._

“I’m fine. I feel better already.” He cautions to reach out and touch Seokmin’s forearm. There’s so much muscle under his skin, and it flexes at the contact. Seokmin glances up at him and smiles. Uneasy, warm, embarrassed, unmistakably turned on. Jeonghan does a little cheer internally.

“Good,” Seokmin says quietly. He glances at Jeonghan’s mouth and then his bare chest and then back to his eyes. His blush deepens again before he looks away and Jeonghan leans back on his hand so Seokmin can really get an eyeful. 

“You’ve got really good hands,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Seokmin is already practically backing out of the room. He knocks his shoulder on the door frame and laughs, high and dazed. “I should um...get back to organizing...cabinets…”

Jeonghan crosses his legs like he’s hiding the evidence from a crime. Seokmin doesn’t need to know the _extent_ to which his hands felt good. Jeonghan just needs to rattle his cage, so to speak. The cage looks _very rattled_.

Still, Jeonghan smirks and wriggles his fingers in a goodbye before Seokmin finally tears his eyes away and disappears from the room.

***

Seokmin never treats him in that room again. He doesn’t even treat him at all. Instead he volleys Jeonghan’s care to his assistants. Which proves that Jeonghan’s direct approach was a success as much as it was a failure. 

In the weeks that follow Seokmin puts a respectable distance between them. He’s nice about it. He’s always smiling at Jeonghan, always asking how the treatment plan is going and comments on whatever post he’s made on instagram. He even takes Jeonghan aside at Soonyoung’s house to congratulate him on the promotion he’s doing with Adidas for the summer collection. 

But it’s _frustrating_ because Seokmin is friends with everyone else on the team in a way he won’t be friends with Jeonghan. He’s constantly at Soonyoung’s house, he’s spending time with Mingyu and Minghao, he’s even spouting off inside jokes with Seungkwan on the sidelines. 

He’s easy and casual with everyone. With Jeonghan he seems to get more and more closed off in the lead up to the home opener. 

The day of the game is hectic. Even though it’s an evening game, Jeonghan leaves his house at nine in the morning to make it to the stadium for the pre-game activities. There’s an entire tailgate event with fans filtering through lines just for Jeonghan’s signature on their jersey and a chance to shake his hand or snap a selfie across the table. Jeonghan likes these events, he likes interacting with the fans, he likes the attention, likes the excitement before a game. But he’s far too focused on trying to keep an eye on Seokmin across the crowd.

When the game starts it’s slipping into twilight and unseasonably warm for March. Jeonghan is starting, as per usual, and struts through the doors to his own home. Where he feels most comfortable, the fans in the stands like his own family welcoming him back after a long time away.

The crowd thrums with their well-practiced chants and Seokmin is yelling along. He claps his hands in time and watches the screen where the players are introduced. It’s the first time Jeonghan has seen him in shorts, his tan legs are hard to look away from.

The opposing team were rivals from the year prior. All day the news outlets have been reporting about how this was _the game to watch_ for opening day and Jeonghan thrives when it comes to well publicized rivalry. He makes eyes at his competition across the half-way line, smirking at them in a way that says: “remember you’re playing against the league champions”.

It ends up being one of the hardest games of his life.

Seungcheol gets yellow carded within the first three minutes, then gets red carded in the first fifteen. With him thrown off the field, their defense is weak, and Hansol and Chan have to pick up the slack. Mingyu gets hit so hard in the nose right after halftime that he starts pouring blood and Jeonghan is almost grateful for the opportunity to take a break.

Seungkwan screams from the sidelines until he goes red, voice cracking, looking like he’s about to ignore his career ending injury that put him into coaching in the first place and step out on the field himself. With ten minutes left and the opposing team leading by one, Jeonghan starts pushing through the exhaustion into pure anger to propel him through the rest of the game. 

Wonwoo is setting him up to score. The opposing defense makes them work for it, and Wonwoo looks like he might faint, and by the time Jeonghan makes it close enough to goal his lungs feel like he swallowed fire. He makes a split-second decision. Wonwoo passes too wide and Jeonghan knows if he doesn’t throw everything into catching the pass, he’ll miss the opportunity to tie the game. 

So, he plants his right foot down on the ground and lifts his left, throwing his weight into it and catches the ball with the very tip of his foot. The ball makes contact and he uses whatever momentum he has in his right shoulder like a fulcrum, spinning his body and generating force in his left leg to send the ball sailing the distance towards the goal. 

He can feel the shooting pain before he even hits the ground. 

The back of his right thigh feels like an electric shock has been sent through it as he lands on his side in the grass. The wind gets knocked out of him as he lands, but his inability to breathe is superseded by the pulsating pain he feels in his leg. He rolls onto his back, pulls his leg up as far as he can and tries to gulp down enough air, so he stops feeling so dizzy.

The referee blows and the crowd starts to grumble the way they do when a player gets injured. Jeonghan hates that it’s him this time. 

“Jeonghan?” Wonwoo says above him. He crouches down, sweat dripping off his forehead as he holds Jeonghan’s shoulder. 

“At least tell me the fucking ball went in,” Jeonghan grits. 

Wonwoo nods. “Tied it up.”

Seokmin nearly barrels Wonwoo out of the way with his entire body. 

It’s strange, because Jeonghan has seen Seokmin treat injuries on the field several times. Hansol got the wind knocked out of him in pre-season and laid on the field for ten minutes before he could stand. Seokmin looked concerned then, serious and intense. It’s nothing compared to the way he looks now.

There’s a frenzy of activity around Jeonghan that he can’t exactly keep up with. Seokmin’s assistant helps him drink water as Seokmin starts firing off questions: “Did you hit your head?” “Where does it hurt?” “Can you extend your leg?” “Can you stand?”

Jeonghan winces when he extends his leg with Seokmin’s assistance and the set of Seokmin’s brow gets deeper. Jeonghan sits up on his own and curses under his breath, knowing full well without Seokmin having to identify the injury that he’s done something to his hamstring.

“Let's get you up,” Seokmin says. He loops one arm behind Jeonghan’s back to support him, the other under his left arm, ready to lift him.

Jeonghan stands up with his assistance and lets him and one of the other trainers get underneath his arms to help him limp his way off the field. The crowd cheers and claps respectfully as he’s loaded onto the golf cart and driven off away from the game through the bowels of the stadium. 

Seokmin is still touching him with his blue nitrile gloves the entire way to the training room. It’s comforting and Jeonghan leans a little into his side to indicate how having Seokmin rubbing circles into his back is welcome. Seokmin pushes his hair out of the way to give Jeonghan a better view of his face and gives him a consoling smile.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

***

A grade one hamstring strain is more inconvenient than it is painful.

Jeonghan is standing in the practice field training room the day after the game. There’s a disgusting sheen of a sweat on his forehead from the unusual heat and the effort it takes for him to walk from the parking lot to the building without moving his leg too much.

Seokmin, as always, is singing when he arrives. 

This time he’s busying around one of the evaluation rooms with his headphones on, hitting the falsetto to a song Jeonghan can’t imagine being in any non-professional singer’s range. Still, Seokmin hits every note, and it makes him wonder how the hell somebody with so much talent ended up in medicine rather than entertainment.

Seokmin catches him watching through the door and grins. He yanks out the earbuds and motions for Jeonghan to come in. The short distance is a struggle and Jeonghan’s leg feels stiff and angry at his choice to even walk more than a few feet. Seokmin frowns once he sees the pain on Jeonghan’s face and hurries to help him the rest of the way.

His hands are warm on Jeonghan’s torso, and apparent through the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing. One of Seokmin’s hands readjusts to his hip, rustling the fabric of his nylon running shorts. “You could have called me and told me you were close, I could have come outside to help you,” Seokmin admonishes.

“I don’t have your number,” Jeonghan grumbles. 

“It’s on the team roster…”

Jeonghan glances to the evaluation table and frowns. Seokmin doesn’t miss a beat. He grabs Jeonghan by the waist and Jeonghan’s hands immediately go to Seokmin’s shoulders. With a quick intake of breath, Seokmin lifts him and Jeonghan puts all his weight onto Seokmin, going momentarily dumb at the feeling of Seokmin’s shoulders flexing to lift his body weight.

Once he’s seated, Seokmin’s eyes immediately go to Jeonghan’s thighs. For the obvious reason of being a professional athlete, his quads are something he takes pride in, but he’s always been exceptionally proud about the delicate, pale skin of his inner thighs. Seokmin focuses his gaze there, where the hem of his shorts is a little too high with how he was deposited on the table. Jeonghan spreads his legs a little without even thinking.

Seokmin shakes his head like he’s shaking a thought out through his ears. “I have your charts from the visit with the team doctor. We talked about a plan to get you back out on the field for the game after next.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “So, I’m out a game?” he asks tartly.

“Yes, just the game this weekend,” Seokmin gives him a sympathetic smile. He’s still standing, and the angle makes Jeonghan crane his neck to look up at him. “But trust me, based on their preseason I’m sure it’s not going to be a fun team to play anyway.”

“Says you,” Jeonghan pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. “Sometimes it’s fun to beat a team who never stood a chance in the first place.”

“It’s a little scary how cute you can be when you’re being so mean.”

Jeonghan’s eyes narrow as Seokmin’s go wide, as if he didn’t intend to vocalize the thought. Jeonghan laughs it off with a flip of his hair and his cheek tucked into his shoulder. “You think I’m cute?”

Seokmin blushes and turns away to wash his hands. “Forget I said anything. Can you turn over for me and lay on your stomach?”

Jeonghan smirks at Seokmin’s back before he rolls to lay flat on his belly on the pleather table. The smell of cleaning chemicals is overwhelming, but the position he’s in sends a thrill straight to his heart, making it thud out faster. 

There’s something suggestive about being laid out for Seokmin like this, being a little exposed, not being able to see Seokmin’s face. He’s never been so twisted up with anticipation at Seokmin’s hands touching his skin. It builds lusciously as he hears Seokmin take paper towels from the dispenser, wipe his hands dry, step on the pedal to the trashcan in the room to them away. 

Seokmin starts with a palm, flat and smooth on the back of Jeonghan’s knee. His skin is chilly from the air conditioning and the first touch is so featherlight, as if Seokmin is letting him know he’s there before he starts touching him in earnest. 

Jeonghan twitches at the sensation and twists his head to lay on his other cheek so he can get a better view of Seokmin. From the way he’s lying he can only see Seokmin’s hip and the hem of his team polo, but he’s close enough to smell the cologne he’s starting to become familiar with, to see the rise and fall of his lower belly as he breathes.

“How’s the pain been?” Seokmin asks clinically. His hand slides upwards, fingers pressing along the back of Jeonghan’s thigh. Jeonghan holds his breath as he feels Seokmin moving further up his leg, exhaling only when Seokmin moves his fingers back down to seek out another column of muscle to study.

“Um, just stiff. It only bothers me when I try to walk,” Jeonghan says. 

“Have you been icing like I told you to?”

Jeonghan snorts. “Yes, though I’m sure not up to your standards.”

Seokmin chuckles. “You’re probably right.” His hands work inwards and Jeonghan parts his thighs once he feels Seokmin’s fingertips dipping into the seam of them. Seokmin’s hands pause for a moment like he’s distracted. “Since you’re so sore, I want to work on this muscle a bit today and then we’ll move to daily exercises and massages from there. You shouldn’t need too much care.” 

Jeonghan shudders once he feels Seokmin’s fingers travel gradually up from the inner part of his knee. His path is deliberate, only the lightest amount of weight, moving at such an agonizingly slow pace that Jeonghan’s hips shift like he’s trying to tell Seokmin to hurry up. The room feels so incredibly silent, punctuated by Seokmin’s even breathing and the rattling of the air conditioner, both overcome by the sudden rushing in Jeonghan’s ears as Seokmin’s fingers get higher and higher and higher. 

He can’t help the sound he makes when Seokmin’s fingers edge the hem of his shorts aside, knuckles close enough to his dick that Jeonghan can feel the heat of them through the fabric. He pushes gently into the tendon there, where it’s sore, drawing out a soft groan from Jeonghan when he pinches the muscle and moves back down to work out the way it’s tense from the strain.

Jeonghan grips the edges of the table and shifts his cheek, rapidly aware of how he’s closed his eyes and parted his lips. His eyes flutter open like he’s waking from a dream, only to press closed again when Seokmin moves back up his leg to squeeze the muscle again.

This time he can’t help the mass of arousal in his stomach, how it makes him feel like he’s going to sink through the floor. Seokmin’s hands are strong and insistent, pushing at his inner thigh while the other rests on Jeonghan’s lower back to keep him steady. Jeonghan digs his fingernails into the plastic underneath the table, willing himself not to get hard, but failing when Seokmin’s hands come back up to the apex of his thighs, somehow higher than before, edging right along the elastic of his briefs.

“Are you...are you ok?” Seokmin says. His voice is lower than Jeonghan has ever heard it and he blinks his eyes open to find Seokmin hovering over him. There’s a pretty pink flush on Seokmin’s high cheekbones, a sheen of spit on his lips like he’s been licking them, and Jeonghan’s mouth curves with a self-assured smile, realizing that he’s not the only one getting turned on by this. 

He tries to push his hair off his face where it’s fallen and gotten stuck to his lips. He fails twice, and Seokmin, ever the gentleman, releases his lower back to pull the strands off his cheeks with a gentle pinch of fingers. His other hand is still working at the muscle, compounding the pain, and the contrast between the two gestures makes Jeonghan’s breath come out shaky.

“It hurts a little,” Jeonghan grits. 

“Yeah,” Seokmin hums. “It’ll feel good afterwards though. You’re really tight.”

Jeonghan has to press his eyes closed at that one, biting on his lip before he even has a chance to laugh at the double entendre. Seokmin’s hand has found where the pain is the worst, high up on Jeonghan’s inner thigh, and he digs his thumb into the spot in tiny circles, forcing the muscle to relax. Jeonghan hears himself whine despite the way he’s practically biting a hole through his own lip from the confusing sensation of throbbing pain and his entire leg tingling satisfyingly.

“Kinda feels good now,” he breathes. Seokmin’s hand works at the spot and he adjusts after a moment. This time he shoves at Jeonghan’s shorts, pushing the hem higher so Jeonghan knows the bottom of his ass cheek is fully on display. The swell of Seokmin’s palm comes to lay flat on the back of his thigh, thumb still massaging out the spot, other fingers now resting on the curve of his ass. Jeonghan arches his back ever so slightly, trying with every fiber of his being not to groan and rock his hips down on the table. He moves them _just_ a friction, which is enough to know he’s harder than he thought.

“Is this ok?” Seokmin says. The lower register is gravelier than before, breathing picking up. Jeonghan wishes he could turn his face more to see the look in Seokmin’s eyes. Like maybe he can telepathically communicate that way and convince Seokmin to move his hand even higher, to brush his fingertips against his cock through his shorts, to take them off altogether, to --

Seokmin hits a spot and Jeonghan groans so loud he’s sure anyone else in the building will hear it. He shakes and Seokmin holds him steady as he shakes and curses, while Seokmin rubs out that spot until Jeonghan goes lax on the table. 

Once his own mind catches up, he realizes that Seokmin’s breathing has gone ragged, that the hand that’s steadying him on his hip is really Seokmin’s fingertips digging harshly into his side. The hand on his thigh has stilled, Seokmin’s fingers now splayed inwards, pinky edging just slightly too high, close enough that if Seokmin moved a few centimeters he’d feel that Jeonghan is hard in his shorts, desperate for Seokmin to touch.

“I think...that’s...” Seokmin starts to say. He draws his hands away suddenly like Jeonghan’s skin is burning him. “That’s probably enough for today. I’ll have my assistant come in to go over the stretching with you. I need to get down to the field for practice.”

Jeonghan attempts to sit up on his elbows and look behind himself. He’s far too embarrassed to turn over entirely and show Seokmin what his hands do to him. But a part of him wishes he hadn’t hesitated, that he’d just been bold enough to grab Seokmin’s wrists and guide them where he wanted them. Because before he can even catch Seokmin’s eyes, Seokmin is already out of the room. 

***

Seokmin avoids Jeonghan for an entire week.

He won’t even make eye contact in the training room, in the team plane to their away game, or once they reach the hotel and Jeonghan reminds Seokmin that he needs help with his stretches before bed. At home, Seokmin hands him off to an assistant, but while traveling Seokmin’s staff is reduced significantly. Which means that Seokmin is required to handle the exercises himself.

Jeonghan is sitting in his hotel room the night before game day with his leg propped up on two pillows. He orders himself room service, despite Seungkwan telling them not to, and shovels french fries into his mouth knowing that it’s outside of his in-season diet plan. What his fitness coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Seokmin comes by before nine. 

They’re both dressed for bed. Seokmin is in a pair of joggers and a tank top and Jeonghan has to physically drag his eyes away from Seokmin’s arms to meet his eyes. When he does, Seokmin has been staring too, right at Jeonghan’s thighs where the hem of the running shorts ends high up on his legs. The same running shorts he was wearing the last time. Jeonghan deliberately packed them.

“Um...hi,” Seokmin says, rubbing his neck. The action only shows off his arms more, how unbelievably built he’s been under his shirts all along. “Are you ready for your exercises?”

Jeonghan smiles. “Always.” 

The stretches are easy, and usually with the tables in the training room, they’re perfectly innocent. But there isn’t a table. There’s the floor and there’s the bed and Jeonghan isn’t about to lay on hotel carpet regardless of how nice the accommodations are. 

He clears off the blankets to make a flat surface before he lays back on the bed. Seokmin watches him, face as neutral as possible, eyes tracking the movement as Jeonghan is laid out in front of him, hair fanned out deliberately. Jeonghan’s heart is hammering away, punching down while his stomach flutters upwards.

“Can you scoot close to the edge for me?” Seokmin says. He’s still unreadable, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Jeonghan watches get more and more pronounced as Jeonghan’s shirt rucks up while he slides his body downwards. 

Jeonghan doesn’t move to fix it. Instead, he puts his arms above his head and spreads his legs just a bit so Seokmin has a place to stand. He looks up at the ceiling and waits for the Seokmin’s hands. He still manages to be shocked when Seokmin’s palms rest on his bare thigh.

“How have you been feeling?” Seokmin asks, circling Jeonghan’s thigh and using his fingertips to assess the muscle on the back of his leg. 

“Since the last time you asked a few hours ago?” Jeonghan quips.

Seokmin laughs. “Yeah.”

“No change,” Jeonghan says dryly.

Seokmin hasn’t touched Jeonghan since the day he was injured. That was almost a week ago. Enough time has passed for Seokmin’s palms on his skin to feel like a new sensation. He’s forgotten what it’s like entirely. It feels good. It sends chills cascading down his back.

Jeonghan smiles to himself. “It’s nice that you’re worried about me.” 

“I...I worry about everyone. That’s my job. To worry.” 

Jeonghan can’t see Seokmin’s face, but he can hear the shyness in his voice. Jeonghan zeroes in on it like a predator finding its prey weakened. “Well maybe you’re extra worried about me since you _are_ my number one fan,” he jokes.

Seokmin laughs loudly, it reverberates through the room and Jeonghan can’t help but laugh too. That’s one thing about Seokmin. His laugh is contagious. 

The first stretch requires Seokmin to bend Jeonghan’s leg at the knee and push that knee up to Jeonghan’s chest. It’s not the most comfortable since Jeonghan has never been particularly flexible, not to mention that the muscle is sore and resists the stretch. Seokmin’s face comes into his line of sight as Jeonghan hisses in pain.

“Sorry,” Seokmin says softly. There’s concern on his face and he offers an apologetic half smile as he comes to rest his right hand on the bed to provide some leverage. 

The position sets something off in Jeonghan that makes his whole body twitch. Maybe it’s the way Seokmin lingers above him. Maybe it’s Seokmin’s hand flat on the bed by his hip holding him up, muscles in his arm activating to carry his body weight. Maybe it’s the way Seokmin’s fingers on his shin are persistent but gentle. Maybe it’s all three.

Jeonghan flexes and unflexes his fingers above his head. He shifts his hands and drags his knuckles through his hair. Seokmin’s eyes follow it then drop to Jeonghan’s mouth where it’s still parted in a gasp from the ache in his leg. 

Seokmin leans back enough to change position. This time he takes Jeonghan by the hips, long fingers caging him so he can get a good grasp. The shirt Jeonghan is wearing is still gathered up enough that Seokmin’s fingertips have nowhere to go but Jeonghan’s skin. He holds Jeonghan tight and pulls his body down closer to the edge of the bed by a few inches. It’s not very far, but the strength it takes is enough to make Jeonghan’s bones liquify, to make his breath hitch in surprise. 

Jeonghan blinks up at Seokmin and Seokmin is looking down, looking between his eyes. He licks his lips and shifts his gaze away, pretty and shy. “Sorry, I needed you to be closer.”

He takes Jeonghan’s injured leg again and moves it in the same position. Jeonghan’s knee is pressed towards his chest, but it’s pushed outward to spread his leg. Seokmin is much closer than before, making it so his hips are dangerously close to pressing against Jeonghan’s thighs near the edge of the bed. It’s close enough that Jeonghan can feel Seokmin’s body heat against his skin.

Seokmin holds Jeonghan’s left hip flat on the bed so he can spread Jeonghan’s right leg up as far as it will go, watching Jeonghan’s face for any sign of pain. Jeonghan’s stomach twists, the familiar burn of arousal settling deep and spreading down through his limbs to the tips of his fingers and toes. He stares up at Seokmin, acutely aware of how Seokmin is positioned between his legs, how if they were naked Seokmin would be close enough to push his cock right into him, how Seokmin’s palm on his inner thigh would be in the same place to keep Jeonghan spread open wide to fuck right into him.

Jeonghan isn’t aware how hard he’s gripping the sheets above his head until Seokmin’s eyes flick upwards from his face. Jeonghan releases the fabric, watches the way Seokmin’s gaze falls back down. He’s so handsome in the dim hotel lamplight despite the awkward shadows thrown around the room. His lips are so thick and his eyes have such a pretty curve. When he presses down on Jeonghan’s leg and gets closer, his breath smells like toothpaste and Jeonghan can smell the sharpness of his cologne.

They stare at one another as Seokmin comes closer, holding Jeonghan’s hip against his resistance and pushing his thigh open. Jeonghan leans up on his elbows, glances down at Seokmin’s mouth and Seokmin looks down at his. Time gets suspended for just a moment, slow and dragging on. Weeks and weeks of tension spiraling up and up.

All these touches that left Jeonghan wanting. The way they’ve been dancing around each other. The fact that Jeonghan has let this kind of coy flirting escalate this much without the other person descending on him. The knowledge that Seokmin is always as affected by putting his hands on Jeonghan’s skin, but that he’s too polite to ever take it any further.

And then Jeonghan is pulling Seokmin down by his shirt.

The first press of Seokmin’s lips is unsatisfying. Seokmin’s mouth is open with shock and Jeonghan mostly catches his teeth. Jeonghan lets out a muffled sound at Seokmin’s body weight falling on him before Seokmin can prop himself up on his hands bracketing Jeonghan’s head.

He leans back to look at Jeonghan’s face. His eyes are wide and he’s breathing hard as if he’s been running. And he looks caught between being turned on and being afraid. Jeonghan reaches up behind Seokmin’s head and drags him back down and this time Seokmin is ready to catch Jeonghan’s mouth with his own.

Seokmin’s lips feel as plush as they look, and he’s far more confident than Jeonghan expects him to be. He is a _good_ kisser. Jeonghan’s knees knock up against his own chest as Seokmin settles over him, letting his body weight trap Jeonghan so he can use one of his hands to push Jeonghan’s long hair back from his face and hold his jaw still. He kisses Jeonghan so thoroughly, like he’s trying to taste every part of his mouth before licking into it insistently. 

Jeonghan wraps his arms around Seokmin’s back and _finally_ Jeonghan is the one getting to touch Seokmin’s body rather than the other way around. What he finds is that Seokmin is every bit as muscular as he could see through his team polos and his too-tight shirts. Seokmin’s back has a deep set divot down the middle that only gets defined between his shoulder blades when he dips his body down to kiss Jeonghan harder. 

Jeonghan edges up Seokmin’s shirt until Seokmin gets the hint and pulls it over his head entirely. Jeonghan takes the half second before Seokmin is devouring him again to study Seokmin’s broad shoulders, his chest, his toned stomach. What he doesn’t catch with his eyes he feels with his hands. He can feel his smooth skin, hot to the touch, and the twitch of muscle as his hands travel down to Seokmin’s waistband. 

Seokmin is indelicate and overeager and Jeonghan can hardly breathe. He tries his best to keep up with Seokmin, but he’s frantic and unfocused and touching everywhere he can while Seokmin kisses down his neck, tugging at his hair to keep his neck exposed.

Jeonghan shoves at Seokmin’s waistband until he can wrap his hand around Seokmin’s cock, hard and leaking precome just from the way they’ve been kissing. Seokmin stutters out a breath, ducking his head against Jeonghan’s shoulder and reflexively bucking his hips forward into Jeonghan’s hand like he hasn’t been touched in years. Jeonghan takes a moment to savor that he’s not the only one who’s been getting embarrassingly worked up from so little – a month and half of tension ratcheting up beyond what Jeonghan is capable of withstanding, now finally snapping.

“Jeonghan, please,” Seokmin groans softly against his ear. His fingers are so tangled in Jeonghan’s hair that each slight movement of his hand tugs and sends a shock of satisfaction down Jeonghan’s spine.

“There’s lube and condoms in my bag,” Jeonghan says hoarsely. He’s surprised by how wrecked his voice sounds.

Seokmin gets distracted kissing Jeonghan again, whining softly into his mouth from the way Jeonghan strokes him. Each small sound makes Jeonghan’s eyelashes flutter. He’s so painfully hard, frustratingly neglected, that he shoves roughly at Seokmin’s shoulder until Seokmin is forced to get off the bed and find the lube and condoms as he was directed to.

When Seokmin comes back, Jeonghan has wrestled his own clothes off and moved closer to the pillows piled against the headboard. He strokes himself lazily, watching Seokmin’s eyes drop down to take in his naked body on the sheets.

“Is this really happening?” Seokmin says and then snaps his eyes to Jeonghan’s almost as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Jeonghan smirks. “Do you not want it to? Was I misreading things?”

Seokmin shakes his head, reaching for Jeonghan’s left ankle so he can pull him downwards on the bed and closer to where he’s come to kneel on the mattress. Jeonghan gasps, mouth falling open, skin feeling like he’s been dunked into boiling water.

“You...really like it when I move you around, huh?” Seokmin breathes. His eyes are half-mast, fingers now wet with lube as he circles Jeonghan’s rim with one hand, the other hand coming to circle a fist around Jeonghan’s cock. 

“Is it that obvious?” Jeonghan gasps out. His entire back bows with the feeling of Seokmin’s hand now on his cock, those long fingers pushing him open. It’s satisfying in all the ways he’d imagined, predictable from the way Seokmin touching him in all those innocent ways before had been all Jeonghan could think about for weeks. 

“I like when you touch me, too,” Jeonghan admits. “Your hands are s --”

Seokmin cuts him off by stretching him with another finger and Jeonghan’s moan gets caught in his throat. He scrambles at the sheets and Seokmin’s eyes are trained on him in a familiar way, similar to how he watches Jeonghan’s face for pain when he assesses an injury or works out a sore muscle. The overlap makes Jeonghan shiver.

“I like…” Seokmin swallows, working his fingers down to the last knuckle and breathing unsteadily. “I like touching you, too. More than I should.”

Jeonghan feels like he might chew through his own bottom lip trying to keep the desperate sounds in the back of his throat from escaping his mouth. Seokmin slides on the condom and hangs over Jeonghan as he gently lifts his injured leg, keeping it still in one hand as the other hand guides his own cock into Jeonghan. The position is a direct reflection of the position from before and Jeonghan thinks he might not be able to have his hamstring stretched out again without thinking about Seokmin’s cock splitting him open.

Seokmin’s hand shakes on Jeonghan’s thigh and Jeonghan’s sure he’s going to rip a hole in the sheets from how hard he’s clutching them. He huffs, trying to work himself further down on Seokmin, but Seokmin holds him still. The realization that Seokmin can prevent him from moving with just a hand on his hip and one hooked under his right thigh is enough to make Jeonghan’s body go slack on the bed.

Instead, Seokmin sets the pace, careful at first, and leans into kiss Jeonghan open-mouthed and slow through the initial roll of his hips. Jeonghan keens, wrestling his knee up against where Seokmin is holding him steady. He wants Seokmin to go faster, wants to push Seokmin’s big brawny shoulder so he’s flat on his back and Jeonghan can ride him. But he can’t do that, and that fact is solidified when Jeonghan pushes his leg up too hard and the shooting pain of his muscle makes him wince.

“Be careful with your leg,” he exhales into Jeonghan’s mouth, stilling his hips and leaning back to studying his face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

There’s a thin layer of sweat on Seokmin’s forehead and his pupils are blown and Jeonghan whimpers at the way Seokmin’s brows furrow with concern as he rocks his hips slow and steady into him. Seokmin pulls out without warning and Jeonghan makes a frustrated noise at the loss.

“Turn over,” Seokmin says, quickly, impatiently, flustered. He releases Jeonghan’s leg to push at his hips insistently. “On your stomach, it’ll be better.”

Jeonghan flips himself on the bed, shoves the pillows aside, lets Seokmin push his thighs together so he can straddle them. Seokmin pauses for a moment, running his fingertips down Jeonghan’s back, and Jeonghan turns his head as best as he can to watch Seokmin’s jaw drop as he gropes his ass before sliding back into him.

Seokmin mutters a curse under his breath and then laughs breathlessly. Jeonghan arches his back, pushing his hips up as best he can as Seokmin sets the pace slow and steady again. He props himself up on the bed as best he can, breathing through his nose like keeping such a slow rhythm is becoming harder and harder.

“Last time you were like this…” he muses. 

Jeonghan laughs through a sigh, digging his nails into the pillowcase. “Yeah, I could tell.”

Seokmin huffs. “I thought I was going to lose my job. God, when you spread your legs out the second I put my fingers between your thighs...”

Jeonghan isn’t about to admit how many times he’s gotten hard when Seokmin is taking care of him. He doesn’t like to play his entire hand before he sees the table. But suddenly Seokmin rests his forehead against the center of Jeonghan’s back, changing the angle and force of his hips, and Jeonghan sees honest to god stars behind his eyes.

He clings to the bed, letting Seokmin’s hips slap against his ass and push him an inch higher up the mattress. Seokmin groans against his skin, the blunt edge of his teeth draping just slightly against one of the notches of his spine, and Jeonghan has to hold his breath so he doesn’t make a sound. Seokmin reaches up and tangles their fingers together, leans further up to kiss his temple, sloppy and open-mouthed.

“I wanted to fuck you the first time I saw you,” Jeonghan rushes out in a single breath. 

“Me, too,” Seokmin says distractedly. He moans softly, nose pressing against Jeonghan’s hairline. Jeonghan squeezes his fingers back and gasps as Seokmin hits his prostate. He’s always so good about finding the right spot. 

“ _Fuck_ keep going, Seok,” he sighs.

Seokmin moans against his ear at the way Jeonghan’s voice gets high and needy when he says his name. He picks up the pace, fucking into him so fast that Jeonghan knows it’s probably not good for his injury. The motion forces Jeonghan to ruck his hips against the bed, the sensation too overwhelming, forcing himself to lift his hips and away from the fabric rubbing against him. Seokmin starts to move unevenly, the sounds he’s making getting more and more urgent until he’s frantically whispering “I’m gonna come.”

He leans away and grabs Jeonghan’s waist, holding him steady as he rocks his hips through his orgasm, and Jeonghan has never gotten so close to coming just from hearing and seeing another person come. Seokmin is _pretty_. His eyebrows shoot up and pinch together, and he’s looking at Jeonghan like he’s grateful, running his hands over Jeonghan’s back as the aftershocks roll through him like he’s trying to say thank you with his palms.

And maybe Seokmin is good at talking with his hands. Maybe that’s the way it’s been this whole time.

Seokmin flips him back over so he’s on his back, immediately coming to his side to kiss him and put a hand around his cock. Jeonghan doesn’t realize how much he’s needed to be touched until Seokmin’s hand is on him. He grabs Seokmin’s wrist, pushing him to move faster, gasping into his mouth when Seokmin thumbs under the head of his cock on the upstroke.

Jeonghan looks down and watches Seokmin’s hand - the hands he’s been obsessing over for weeks - circled around him, fingers seeking out what makes Jeonghan shiver, and that’s all it really takes. Jeonghan digs his heels down into the bed and fucks his hips up into Seokmin’s fist before he comes. And he can’t remember the last time he came so hard from a handjob but leave it to Seokmin to be the one to make him practically cry from how fucking good it feels.

Seokmin smiles against his lips, self-satisfied, a little high off the way Jeonghan can’t seem to train his face into the petty annoyance he’s feeling at seeing Seokmin so pleased with himself. He arches back on the bed, pushing at Seokmin’s shoulder with a huff. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be taking care of me? Go get a towel,” he scolds. He can’t really hide the smile on his lips, or the way it goes wider at Seokmin laughing as he kisses him before he disappears into the bathroom.

When Seokmin walks into the room again, he’s got his underwear back on and a washcloth in his hand. He leans one knee on the bed, looking the way he does during an exam, with a focused brow and his tongue between his teeth. He’s cute, and it’s endearing how much effort he’s putting into cleaning Jeonghan’s stomach, how he works to carefully help Jeonghan to put his shorts back on.

“How’s your leg?” he asks timidly. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Jeonghan presses his lips together. “Stop worrying and come here,” he says emphatically.

Jeonghan pulls him back down on the bed, forcing Seokmin to lay flat so he can settle into the nook of his shoulder. As expected, cuddling up to Seokmin is every bit as comforting as he’d been trying _not_ to imagine for weeks. Seokmin’s arm is big and heavy around him, his hands idly trace patterns on Jeonghan’s side, his lips constantly finding their way to Jeonghan’s, kissing him lazily like he’d be content to do it the rest of the night. 

“Seokmin, can I tell you a secret,” Jeonghan whispers through a smile.

Seokmin nods. “Anything.”

“All those times I came to see you before. I didn’t really need to.” He pauses, nipping at Seokmin’s lip. “Well...except the hamstring. And my ankle.”

Seokmin’s eyebrows furrow before he starts laughing. Far too loudly for how close he is. “But why?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “Cause I thought you were hot?” He slides his hand down Seokmin’s side, gripping at his hip. “I wanted an excuse for you to touch me.”

Seokmin’s breathing deepens slightly and he licks his lips. “So, you faked an injury just to come and see _me_ .” Seokmin looks completely floored, like he’s never been so confused by something in his life. “Do you even know how nervous I was about getting a job with this team? All because of _you_.”

Jeonghan’s lips break into a smile. “I _knew_ it. I bet you have a bunch of posters of me in your house.”

“I do _not_. Stop picking on me.”

Jeonghan jabs Seokmin’s belly. “But you _do_ have a crush on me.”

Seokmin jabs him back in the same spot, far less harsh than Jeonghan poked him. “And _you_ have a crush on me. So, I guess we’re even.”

Jeonghan giggles despite himself. “I guess so.”

Seokmin puts his finger under Jeonghan’s chin, studying his eyes for a moment before he leans in to kiss him again. This time Jeonghan’s heart flutters like he’s swallowed a beehive, airy and uncomfortable down to the pit of his stomach. And he can’t stop smiling, making for a terrible kiss, but Seokmin doesn’t seem to mind.

“You know,” Seokmin says after a moment. “You could have asked me out. I would have said yes. Probably would have embarrassed myself by running down the street screaming in celebration, too. I think you would have liked that.”

“Well, where would be the fun in that? Just _asking you out_?” Jeonghan smirks. “Plus, you could have asked me out, too. I’m not usually the one doing the asking.”

“I’m sure you aren’t,” Seokmin says flatly, smiling bright as he looks into Jeonghan’s eyes again. “Do you think maybe you can make room for your number one fan in the long line of guys probably waiting for a date with you?”

Jeonghan laughs, throwing his head back. He leans against Seokmin’s shoulder, nestling in there, and he finds he fits so well. “I’m sure I can make an exception for you.”

***

It's not the position they want to be in for the final. 

Regular season had gone off without a hitch. They'd gone nearly undefeated, with only a few hard-fought games in between. They were the favorite to win going into the payoffs and that's probably what had them resting on their laurels. 

Every game since then had been neck and neck leading up to this one and they aren't fairing any better now. There's only fifteen minutes left in overtime, they're 2-2, and Jeonghan hasn't caught his breath even after sitting on the bench for a portion of the game.

Seokmin looms over him, orange water bottle in hand, shouting excitedly at Jihoon on a breakaway as if he can hear him. Jeonghan takes the water bottle from him again, guzzles it down, and then hands it back. Seokmin finally looks back to him once he's halfway through re-tying his ponytail.

"Are you ready?" he asks and Jeonghan nods. Seungkwan makes a motion over his shoulder that Seokmin has learned to read like some new form of sign language. 

"Born ready," Jeonghan says breezily. He stands up, takes another gulp of water for good measure, and flashes Seokmin his brightest smile. 

Seokmin squeezes his shoulder and leans in to whisper in his ear. "You've got this, baby."

They've kept their relationship quiet for a multitude of reasons. First and foremost, it's not very sensible to involve the club and the league for something they aren't sure of themselves. Seokmin isn't particularly good at hiding how he feels, but Jeonghan's good enough at ignoring him for both of their sakes. Secondly, Jeonghan doesn't want anyone in his business. Which means public dates aren't possible unless they bully Soonyoung into acting like their escort to throw off suspicion. Jeonghan gets recognized almost every time he goes out for dinner. As much as it strokes his ego, it does mean he lacks privacy.

Still, Jeonghan spends more time at Seokmin's single-story bungalow on the eastside than he does his own cement-and-glass high rise downtown. It's started to get too weird to sleep alone and Seokmin's dog is attached to him - he wouldn't hurt a dog's feelings by denying him his company. Plus, Seokmin always cooks for him and trying to keep up with his diet plan is impossible unless somebody else is doing it for him.

By the time he's back out on the field, the crowd is one sustained note of _loud_ that you only ever see during overtime. There's not much time left and a shoot-out would be where they'd crumble. Mingyu is big, but number five on the other team could kick a hole through an iron wall on a bad day.

With Jeonghan in with Chan and Soonyoung, the game moves even faster than normal. Soonyoung can sprint faster than anyone and Chan is a defender who works well with him. When the other team makes it close to goal, Chan doesn't let up until he can get the ball to Soonyoung and back into safe territory. It's the other team's defense that gives them trouble.

Jeonghan's stamina is nothing to write home about, and the game had already been so much. The crowd is singing out a battle cry cheer, there's an minute left, and he's trying not to collapse.

Mingyu stops a goal and brings it back out. Seungcheol passes down the line to Minghao, Minghao gets the ball to Soonyoung, Wonwoo dodges the defender on the other team who looks like Sloth from the Goonies. He's set up to score, but that defender keeps at him until he has to either give up the position or pass. Jeonghan makes eye contact with him the second before Wonwoo chooses.

Jeonghan is fast and his footwork is what got him here in the first place. He can get himself through a tight space when he needs to and he takes risks when other's won't. Seungkwan has always fought with him about that. They all did.

It's not the best shot he could take, but it's one he knows could work. The probability isn't great. There's a big chance for error. But their goalkeeper is pretty top heavy, and it's less than ten seconds to go.

The ball clips the top bar. Like he said, it's not his best work.

The sound the crowd makes could probably be heard the next state over. He barely even hears the last whistle.

Soonyoung barrels into him shoulder first and he's lucky that Joshua is there on the other side so he doesn't get knocked straight into the grass. Suddenly it's all of them surrounding him, smothering him. He can't really breathe, but it doesn't stop him from yelling at the top of his lungs. It's more than winning the cup. They were underdogs for so long and now they've set a record for most consecutive cup wins. And Jeonghan was the one to make it happen.

They separate into individually congratulatory hugs and Jeonghan puts his hands on his knees to catch his breath, head hanging down.

Just as he leans back up to stand, he's lifted off the ground with thick, squeezing arms around his waist. Seokmin practically screams in his face and Jeonghan cackles, holding onto his shoulders as he's spun around and around. He looks down at Seokmin and sees his face beaming with pride, a couple silly, happy tears tucked into the corners of his eyes. He absolutely should not be out here celebrating with Jeonghan like this.

He doesn't hear much of the crowd or his other teammates. It's suspiciously quiet, but he knows they must be still screaming. He can't focus on the sound at all. 

When Seokmin lowers him down to his feet, Jeonghan doesn't let go of his shoulders. He tugs him down by them instead, pushes up onto his tip toes, and kisses Seokmin right on the mouth. Seokmin jolts in surprise, but his hands cup Jeonghan's cheeks and kisses him back. Jeonghan gets a little lost in it. He fists at Seokmin's hair, presses their bodies together.

All of his teammates must be looking now. There are twenty-seven thousand people in this stadium. There's probably around a million people watching this on television. The MLS president is in a suite on the mezzanine, seeing Jeonghan make-out with his boyfriend in the center circle.

And Jeonghan doesn't really care.


End file.
